Luck
by Cat in the Window
Summary: In which Mr. Stacy lives, Gwen panics, and all Peter wants to do is sleep. Based on The Amazing Spider-Man.
1. Chapter 1

This idea hit me at two thirty in the morning and just wouldn't go away. So I wrote it on my phone. Let's see how this works.

If it says Gwen's parents names anywhere, I didn't hear them. And I never read the comics as a kid on grounds of all the spider pictures freaking me out (I just found out I was allergic through a banana spider bite, can you really blame me?).

Anyway, I imagined that if Mr. Stacy lived, he'd turn into Spider-Man's equivalent to Commissioner Gordon in Batman. Just, you know, not Gary Oldman.

**Edit: **They're juniors in this. Took a tally from chapter two.

Disclaimer: only own what you don't recognize.

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It's around midnight when George Stacy gets a knock on his bedroom door.

Normally, this means his youngest is coming to tell him and his wife that he had a nightmare so one of them could get up and calm him down, but it's the boys' winter vacation and Helen decided to bring them along on a business trip. This can only mean it's Gwen, who's up past midnight because it's a Friday (well, Saturday as of of five minutes ago), and his paternal instincts light up like a torch to let him know something's wrong. He pushes his covers back and heads to the door, putting on his most impassive face to hide his worry because he doesn't know what state his daughter is in yet. And he hopes to God that it isn't something womanly since being equipped to handle those sorts of things isn't really his strong point.

But once he opens the door he wishes that it _was _a female issue because finding his daughter more wide eyed than usual with her hands bloody isn't something any father wants to see. Before he can ask what's wrong, she's stuttering out, "T-taking pictures for a scholarship, not doing anything dangerous, snow wasn't on the weather report, fell on a fire escape, too heavy to move -"

Though this is about the last thing he needs at the moment, he doesn't particularly like the thought of Peter Parker injured and he'd rather have him here than struggling to get to Queens. He isn't sure what it is - that he puts his life on the line for the safety of others same as any officer, that he and his daughter are unfortunately, obviously in love, that he has no father of his own to help him - but he does feel at least a little responsible for the boy. "In your room?" he asks, quieting Gwen down. She nods, and some of the shaking calms. "Okay, come on."

He finds Peter slumped against the windowsill, half passed out and shirtless without his outfit in sight, a cut running down his temple and his right side covered in forming bruises, along with a nasty scrape on the inside of his arm. There's a camera next to him with with chipped paint but otherwise unharmed, and a cell phone that still looks intact too. Checking his injuries first is the best idea, but George doesn't want a bloody mess on his daughter's floor.

"This might hurt a little," he says, hooking one arm under the boy's already folded legs and another around his shoulders because he doesn't think he will be able to walk on his own. He hears Gwen's sharp intake of breath at a noticeable flinch, and Peter's much too light for someone his height. Then again, he does swing on webs, so it only makes sense. "Gwen, go get the first aid kit in the kitchen. I'm taking him to the bathroom. Peter, I need you to keep your head up."

She nods, shaken, and hurries out as George tries to maneuver all six feet of lanky, damaged limbs through the bathroom door and sets him down with a minimal amount of pain on the tile floor. His pupils are far too dilated, and it won't take any tests to see if he's concussed.

"Gwen said something about a scholarship," he tells him as he gets down in front of him to inspect the damage, trying to keep him awake. He's dealt with more than enough officers and victims with concussions that he knows that to do. There's a bloodstain forming on his jeans near his shin.

"Yeah," Peter answers, looking mildly surprised that someone's in front of him. Naturally the kid got injured when he _wasn't _fighting some serial killer or bizarre criminal mastermind. "Want to go to NYU. Found a scholarship for a photography contest."

"Were you hoping for unique angles?" Peter nods, and he rolls up the pant leg to reveal lacerations that match the grating of a fire escape.

Before he can answer, Gwen comes back, holding the first-aid kit in her hands and getting down next to them. She and George split the disinfectant wipes to make this go faster as he tries to figure out what to do. He's head of a murder investigation, has to go into work at seven in the morning, and is dead tired, so he _should _be asleep, but Peter can't go home in this weather in the condition he's in and he doesn't like the idea of leaving a teenage boy with his daughter without adult supervision. Though, realistically, the odds of him doing anything other trying to stay awake seem slim.

"I'm so sorry," he says, giving another wince. "Tried to make it home, couldn't. Nowhere else to go."

As the initial touch of disinfectant touches his temple and arm, causing a slight spazz, Gwen says, "Just don't talk for a moment, okay? Concentrate on breathing."

Like most sane people in the world, George doesn't like it when kids get hurt. In his line of work, he sees it all too often. And though he's glad his daughter got him to help patch the kid up, he knows that he can't let this be the end of it. He's an adult, a cop, and Spider-Man or not, he can't let a high school student get away with being injured in his bathroom and not do something about it.

Basically, he's worried.

Surprisingly, what worries him the most is Peter's complete lack of reaction when he suddenly slumps against Gwen's shoulder other than, "Oh, Jesus!" presumably because of the pain.

It takes a lot of patience and selflessness not to be annoyed by this, and the only thing that stops him is keeping in mind that he practically works with this kid, exchanging information, and he can plainly see that there's no way he could've gone anywhere else. Even in New York, this weather will slow down just about everything. "You cracked a rib," he says and his daughter looks considerably more startled as she puts butterfly stitches on his head. "You're going to need to go to the hospital in the morn -"

"No!" he cuts in, mind evidently still tuned in enough to register that. "I heal fast, I'll be better in a-a few hours. Just...wanna sleep."

As George pinches the bridge of his nose, Gwen says, "Don't you dare, Peter Parker!" If this weren't so seriously she wouldn't have gotten him because even the smartest of people have their moments, he knows. "We'll think up an excuse, it'll be fine." Peter doesn't answer. "I'm going to get a wash cloth for the blood and some Advil. Do you need anything else?"

"Cell phone. Aunt M-M-May doesn't sleep until I get home."

Gwen adjusts him to move and he slides further down the bathtub's edge. Once she's gone the boy's repeating, "I'm so sorry. Wouldn't've - only two blocks away - can't stick to ice 'pparently."

"It's fine," he answers even if it isn't really. There's an injured sixteen-year-old who's done a pretty good job staying away from his off limits daughter bleeding on his bathroom floor when he shouldn't be here in the first place. "You'll be all right."

Again, he gets no answer. Peter's like a rag doll when George leans him away from his support, falling awkwardly forward as he binds his ribs. Then, delayed, he asks, "You sure?" and there's an edge of nervousness in his voice that wasn't there before.

George really, really hates it when kids get hurt.

"Positive," he says but being a cop's turned him into a pessimist, so he isn't entirely. "You said you heal fast, Parker?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, if you're back in the city at night before at least Friday, I'm sending out a warrant for your arrest again _and _telling your aunt."

For the third time, no answer. As he leans Peter back, bandages and bindings in place, Gwen returns with a washcloth and Peter's phone pressed between her shoulder and ear. She's saying, "...Stacy, his classmate. He can't make it home because of the storm. Oh, he was covered in snow so my dad made him take a shower before he gets sick. He wants you to know he'll he there as soon as he can. Okay, I'll tell him. Sorry about this, Mrs. Parker. Goodbye."

When she kneels back down in front of him to clean off her face, Peter tells her, "Could've called myself."

"Not when you can't complete a sentence," George answers and stands. "I'll get you something to change into and put your clothes in the wash. Sending you home like this isn't a good idea."

Though he doesn't like the idea of leaving the two of them alone, the boy's incredibly dazed, "Okay," reassures him that anything happening to reestablish something resembling a relationship is borderline impossible.

It takes longer than it should've, but he manages to help the kid change his shirt and pants, both of which turn out to be baggy, while Gwen waits outside. And after a very long internal conflict, he decides that sleep is pretty important and his daughter probably won't get any anyway, and leaves them alone.

Eventually sleep does come to him despite a nightmare of giant humanoid lizards in trench coats, and he wakes up at six. In his own tired state, it takes him until he finishes his morning routine to remember the teenagers left to their own devices in a bedroom all night. He hurries down the hall, knocking on the plain white door, and a moment later a very sleepy Gwen opens it.

"Morning, Daddy," she says, leaning over and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "You woke me up."

"What?" He looks past her to find Peter lying on his uninjured side on the floor. Even from this vantage point, he can see the bruises and head would already look better. He wasn't kidding about healing fast, then. "When?"

She rubs her eye. "Bout an hour ago," she answers. "Can we just...stay here? I'll go to the guest room or something. Please, Daddy?"

Again, he doesn't like it, but the ice storm is still raging on outside and work for an officer is never cancelled. It takes another internal debate, but in the end he says, "There are eggs in the refrigerator. And your mom's flight is coming in at noon."

"I'll set my alarm for nine. If anything's wrong, I'll take him to the hospital."

"Tell him my warning still stands."

"Okay. Be careful."

They part ways, but he waits until he hears Gwen enter the guest room before leaving.

.

If Peter ever got severely hurt, his luck's bad enough that it would be in a completely unrelated to crime fighting. Review please! I might end up writing Peter's and Gwen's point of views too.


	2. Chapter 2

So...written again at around two in the morning. I really have to stop doing this to myself. I have an actual novel I need to finish. Then again, I can work on that in college. Working on fanfiction in college feels a little embarrassing, but I'll probably end up doing it anyway.

Disclaimer: don't own anything you recognize.

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Winter break continues for school and two days after the incident Gwen finds herself at Peter's door for the second time. She lied to her dad to be here, feeling horrible about it but knowing that approaching him in the middle of a homicide investigation isn't the brightest idea. Two extra hours of work, she told him, a good lie because it wasn't too uncommon. And overtime looks great on college transcripts.

Surprisingly, it's his aunt who opens the door rather than him, and her face melts into a smile.

"Gwen!" his aunt says, and she has to wonder what the woman's doing home on a Wednesday. It can't mean anything good. "Here to see Peter?"

She answers, "Yeah. I just wanted to check on him and he wasn't picking up his phone," as Mrs. Parker steps aside and ushers her in. She slips off her boots, not wanting to track any of the slush that so kindly stuck itself to the soles.

"I haven't heard anything from his room," she says. "I think he might be sleeping. You can go up if you like."

Oh god, Peter sleeping at six in the evening, which she knows is borderline impossible. He's been an insomniac since he turned thirteen, he told her, and the bite only made his sleeplessness worse. "Thanks," she says, knowing she should let her ex-boyfriend rest but too worried to do so. "Third door to the left, right?"

Mrs. Parker nods and gives her another smile, taking her coat. She feels uncomfortable in her clothes for the first time in a while, wishing she'd worn something other than jeans and a sweater bought from Saks on Fifth. In Manhattan it feels normal, but she's in middle class Queens at the moment, a drastic difference to her Ninth Ave apartment. His aunt tells her to go upstairs and that she's finishing dinner if Gwen wants to stay, adding a warning that Peter still isn't in the best shape. This is wrong - panic inducing even - because it's been three days since the injury and with his fast-acting healing he should be fine. Their excuse was that he slipped on the subway stairs, easy enough because they shared similar grating to fire escapes and people did it all the time because of black ice and crowds. The lack of grip on his sneaks just makes it more believable.

She knocks on the door to be polite and hears the electronic lock click open, followed by a clear, "Come in." Plywood doesn't exactly muffle sound.

"Aunt May, I really don't want any -" he starts before the door is fully opened and he sees who it is. Then slips out, "The fuck - Gwen!"

Seeing the bruises on his face and exposed arm, as well as the cut on his head and bandages pocking out under his sleeve hurts. But it's more than that too - she misses him like hell and this feels worse than ever. Those big, sweet brown eyes of him are perfectly clear, looking as shocked as they did the first time she kissed him in school, and there's paper in front of him filled with math equations as doodles. A picture he must've taken the night of the accident (as she's come to call it in her head) is up on his computer screen to remove any imperfections. The simple bedroom just screams of his personality as developed throughout the years. On the wall above him she sees a photo of his parents for the first time.

It's rude, but she lets herself in.

"Don't sound so astonished, Peter," she says. "Did you really think I wasn't going to check on you after you passed out on me?"

He blinks. "Okay," he answers, "I guess. Do your parents -" She shakes her head. "Oh. You can sit if you want."

She takes a seat on the bed and he stays on the chair in front of his computer, trying to leave a distance and looking at her warily. "I'm fine," he tells her. "Can't exactly say that to my aunt, so I lied. But really, all better."

Honestly, she isn't sure if she believes him either. Even when they were together, he always downplayed the full extend of his injuries, though she suspects that was partially because of the speculations circulating the school. They weren't exactly low key when it came to a rumor mill and for some reason their grade was especially bad. But Peter always he insisted he was fine with it, used to it even, got enough long before the bruises.

Thankfully, this didn't happen during a school week or he'd be screwed.

"Right," she sees, leaving enough of a pause to let him know she's still skeptical. After a heartbeat's length of awkward silence, she adds, "We're really worried you know. Next time, do me a favor and call after I get you home."

"We?" he repeats. "Who's we? And seriously, you don't need to worry. Like I said, already better."

He's one of the stupidest people she's ever met, which is saying something considering sometimes he successfully (and unknowingly) makes her feel like an idiot. Before him, she hadn't known what it was like to be around anyone smarter than herself.

"My dad hasn't said anything," she answers, "but he his." Evidently, this is surprisingly. "Anyway, I have to make it back to Manhattan."

They stand and he opens the door for her. Before she officially exits the room, she finds herself reaching up, touching his face because she wants to make sure he isn't totally lying and developed a fever or something. He doesn't move away, and if anything feels cold. "You can come around whenever," she says. "Especially if it's closer than here."

And because she doesn't trust herself, she leaves before he can answer.

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The homicide investigation finishes the day before New Year's Eve, and on January second, the night before school starts up again, she works up the nerve to talk to her dad.

Realistically, she should've done this a while ago, but first he was in the hospital, then at home recovering, and finally went back to work only be launched into a case no one bothered to hire a private detective for. As she walks to meet him, planning on catching him before her mom can finishing cleaning up after dinner like she tends to do and after her brothers have disappeared off to their rooms, she goes over her spiel in her head. A lot of her points are low blows admittedly but last week proved that this isn't really working. For anybody. Though she hasn't told anyone, a boy'd asked her out now that she was "free" and she'd given him more than just a few cold shoulder comments. By tomorrow that'll hit school and -

Well, that's just an excuse. In actuality, she's been pretty miserable the whole time. Not just because of this, true, but it's a large contributing factor.

"Dad?" she says to get his attention as she comes up behind him, not using her usual "Daddy" to let him know she's serious. He turns, and his face has taken on that annoyingly impassive expression he tends to get when he knows he won't like the conversation. "I wanted to talk to you about..."

When he crosses his arms, she loses all her words. "Peter?" he finished. Then, perfectly deadpan, "No."

"But, Dad -"

"No, Gwen." Why are all the men in her life so damn _stubborn_? "I don't want to put you at risk. If he can understand that, so can you."

But he doesn't understand it, not really, she thinks. He's wrong if he hasn't realized she notices all the looks he sends her way in class and by the lockers.

Then it all comes out in one rush, "I'm old enough to know what I'm getting into. I'm not some helpless girl, I might be seventeen but I'm not stupid, I've seen it first hand - I've lit a mutated lizards hand on fire before and created an antidote to save the city and honestly, I know how to be careful, so do you really think I'm not already in danger by being your daughter, which is a thousand times more well known on my last name -"

"Gwen -"

" - alone! If anything it's worse because do you really think he'll let someone find out or that anyone can make that connection, is the entire thing behind this because I'm a girl or something because gender really shouldn't come into play and -"

"You've made your point, Gwen," he cuts her off and she knows the anti-feminism rant might've brought it too far, too low of a reasoning. "Just let me think about it, all right? Ah - don't push it. I'll get it to you by...Wednesday, understand?"

It'll be a no, she thinks, and maybe she really is just some stupid girl right now, getting caught up in the life of some boy. Peter isn't some be-all-end-all in the grand scheme and yeah, being with him is admittedly dangerous. But she stands by what she says, that if anything it's worse being George Stacy's daughter, and her father has gotten threats against his family before, even if he doesn't know she found out about that. Both her and Peter are beyond stressed as it is, and this might help ease some of it. Or maybe she's just finding excuses now, too.

She mumbles a thank you and leaves, mind too full and thoughts racing.

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On Tuesday, her mom asks, "What does your friend like to eat?"

She pauses, hand on the handle of the fridge's door, and turns around, confused. "What?"

"Your friend," she says again. "The one you brought over in October. He _is _coming over tomorrow, isn't he? Or did you dad give me the wrong date?"

In her shock, it takes her a moment to answer. "No," she says. "No that was - Anyway, I don't know. He's a boy, he's okay with anything."

"All right," her mom says, and turns back around, continuing to cut up vegetables. Gwen had never inherited her mom's love of cooking, or her talents, though somehow both her brothers did. She was more like her father - make a sandwich or bowl of cereal if no one else was around, go out and buy something pre-made if she doesn't feel like bothering even with that. "I have to say, I'm a little surprised. I think I can count on one hand the number of times George misjudges a person. How'd the boy manage to do it?"

The only reason Mom possibly could've said that was because her dad _admitted _to it, which was a rare enough occurrence as is. Not telling her about it first is even stranger. She'd always been closer to him than she was her mom, and part of that was because he never does the typical parent thing of going behind her back. Now this is the second time in a month and half.

But this time it seems like a good thing...hopefully.

"He's sweet," she answers, because explaining that he helps save the city most nights probably won't go over well. Getting the "it's dangerous!" speech from her dad is a lot different than getting it from her mom. Mostly because she's his weakness, and stubborn as he is, she really shouldn't be all that surprised it didn't last forever. Mom on the other hand? Well, maternal instincts can be pretty scary sometimes. She adds, "Actually, Mom, don't make anything too fancy. It might make him a little uncomfortable."

Though she knows that sounds judgmental in terms of social status, her mind suddenly flashes back to the way he said, "This is your _room_?" and considering that he doesn't talk to many people, she can't imagine she's used to it. And she feels like her mom making something out of one of her gourmet recipe books might come off as kind of show off-y. It isn't exactly like she's been in a situation like this before either. Most of the school lived in this area - Peter got in on scholarship money alone.

"Okay," Mom says, and seems almost excited. "I'll look through some of the recipes your grandma gave me. George might like that too."

"I have homework," she says, "so I'm going to go back upstairs. Call when dinner's ready."

Her mom agrees and she goes back to her room, sitting on the windowsill and staring down at the street below.

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So, I think I'm going to make this longer than I actually originally intended because I have like a half-plot forming that I'd like to develop, using all three point of views since it'll feel strange to just drop one or two (um, I'm weird). Because of this, I'm debating on pushing down the ages from senior year to junior year because it worked really well in high school, but that would make Peter sixteen since he has an August birthday (yay for internet!), so I can't decided if that's awkward or not. If it is, I'll just condense the story. If not, I'll edit the first chapter to change the age mentioned.

Leave your thoughts in a review. :3


	3. Chapter 3

So, this chapter backtracks a little. Like, not all the way or anything, just back an unmentioned scene before the final part of Gwen's.

Disclaimer: don't own anything you recognize.

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Peter isn't sure how Mr. Stacy ends up in his kitchen the first Tuesday after school begins again. Aunt May's at work and the two of them are awkwardly alone, but because of the subject matter, he can't really complain.

"Gwen talked to me yesterday," he says, looking uncomfortable and he seems to take up more the room than this body really should. The issue of having a demanding personality, Peter supposes. "She...put up a pretty good argument."

Of course she would, captain of the debate team and all, definitely got a lot of practice with it. "So, you don't think it's a bad idea anymore?" he asks, sounding more hopeful than he wants to because he understands that it makes sense, that Mr. Stacy made the right call.

"She pointed out it's dangerous enough being my daughter." He doesn't seem particularly happy about it, and god, is Peter tired. This is the best news he's had in a long time, but he spent the entirety of the past two nights sleepless and active, so this isn't all that unexpected. Not that he minds - he's tired, but it's the good kind of tired. "There're guideline, though."

Guidelines are good with him. Being with someone shouldn't be such a big deal, he knows this, but he also acknowledges that he's head over heels for this girl and the past six weeks proved that there's not much he can do about that. "What are they?" he answers.

"First," Mr. Stacy says, "you never go near her at night unless something like the other day happens or she ends up in a situation. Second, don't make anything too obvious between you two. Third, try avoiding talking when you're out, your voice is pretty distinct. Fourth, if you come by during the day, don't swing in and _please _use the door. Fourth, just do me a favor and look out for her. She's right, my family's high risk enough. Is that clear?"

Simple, straight forward, but not really at all. There's a lot unsaid - that in actuality she might be safer as long as their careful, that he's more reckless than he realized, that Mr. Stacy is strangely worried about _him _getting hurt too. As someone who was always an observer, he's pretty good at picking up on things. Sure, the last bit he only notices because Gwen brought it up, but he gets everything else because he agrees with it. The rules are short but absolute, and even the exception seems like an order. Why exactly the man bothers to be worried is lost on him, but he guesses it has to do with the whole not wanting his to see his baby girl get hurt thing.

He smiles and sticks out his hand. "Deal, Mr. Stacy," he says and they shake. "And I'll try to keep an eye on the rest of your family too. Two's better than one, right?"

"Right," he says. "I have to head back to the station now, but you should try coming for dinner tomorrow if you're free."

It sounds like a peace offering. "Yeah, I'm free," he says because he almost always is. It's not exactly like he has friends, though lately it seems like Flash of all people is trying. "Eight like last time?"

"Yeah. Be a little early. And remember, Peter, use the normal people door."

He can't help it - he smiles. Despite their rocky start and the fact that Mr. Stacy was originally keeping him and Gwen apart, he's grown to like the guy. They exchange information when no one's around, separating the work so even the pettiest if crimes are taken care of. Peter's helped gather intel for a few big cases, too, calling it in as an anonymous tip even if it's totally illegal (then again, everything he does is), and discovered that he's pretty much a natural at the whole sneaking around thing. Since they started collaborating, the crime rate in the city's significantly dropped. It's something Peter feels proud of, really.

He walks the man to the door because he's trained to be polite by this point and the exchange an incredibly uncomfortable goodbye that ultimately ends with Peter half-skipping back up the stairs because, really, certain moments called for that level of stupidity.

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Gwen's waiting for him by his locker when he finally makes it to school the next day, clutching her books to her chest and glancing around nervously. He meant to get to her first but naturally some guy decided that seven in the morning was the perfect time to try and mug a middle aged lady trying to make it to the subway station, delaying his chance to meet up with his girlfriend (or whatever she is - he's not really sure at this point in time) by a whole ten minutes. She spots him before he can get to her, fighting his way through crowds of meandering freshman and other students caught up in said crowd, and she looked noticeably relieved.

"So," she says as he reaches her, "do you like homemade macaroni and cheese?"

He smiles, suddenly feeling more relaxed than he has in weeks because the sight of her happy tells him that, yeah, this is really going to happen. That something's going _right._ "Yeah," he answers, and gets his books from his locker. "Yeah. My mom used to make it when I was a kid. She always said Kraft was too unhealthy."

"Great." The warning bell rings and since the class is right down the hall, this makes it the first day in a while he won't be late. Hopefully this means he won't be late tonight, either. "So tonight at seven-thirty?"

"Your dad said to come a little early," he says, "so yeah, I guess."

The enter to class room right as the bell rings, and his English teacher's look of shock at him actually being on time just tops off a perfect morning.

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The thing about the Parkers is that they've never really had money, something that's never bothered him before despite going to a school in Midtown Manhattan. But right now, sitting at Gwen's dining room table in a grey hoodie he bought two years ago from Old Navy and jeans already a little worn at the knees, reality comes crashing down hard. He owns no nice clothes, lives in a house where he fixes everything with tools his uncle's had for longer than he can remember, and pays his cell phone data plan himself - a drastic difference from just about everything in this apartment. Mrs. Stacy and Aunt May are probably about the same age, but Gwen's mom looks about ten years younger, and five minutes ago he standing on a Persian rug that probably costs more than every electronic he owns combined.

Objectively, he knows this isn't something he should care about since it seems like none of them care. Subjectively, he does anyway. It doesn't help that he's finally connected the dots and sees that the plainness of the macaroni and cheese is for his benefit. That is, so he's actually eating something he recognizes.

"Are you too cold, Peter?" Mrs. Stacy asks him, obviously not caring about the disaster of last time's dinner because the look she has genuinely resembles something like affection. Howard and Simon, her brothers, are staring at him in way that blatantly reads, "You're _back_?" She continues, "Do you want me to turn up the heat?"

"No, I'm fine," he answers, hoping his natural awkwardness isn't as obvious as he feels it is. "Wearing the sweater's just - habit, I guess."

In actuality he's a little too warm if anything, but there's a pretty bad gash from from a knife of his arm that he stupidly let hit him only an hour before (that was the problem with winter; it got dark way too early and his nights lasted too long), and he doesn't want anyone at the table to see it. Coming up with a bullshit excuse sounds like too much work and he wants tonight to go well for not just his sake, but Gwen's too, and he doesn't want Mr. Stacy to take back his decision. Getting injured seems like a sure way to have the happen.

"Yeah," Gwen says, which means she must realize it's for an entirely difference reason, "it doesn't help that our school's heat is broken."

He adds, "Mr. Lutz officially nicknamed his classroom Siberia today."

"So a school of science can't fix its own technology problems?" Howard says, and Peter glances at Gwen before shrugging. Unfortunately, the heating being broken thing is true, and he's pretty sure that some of his classrooms are colder inside than outside the building is. What makes it worse is the vents are blowing out cold air rather than no air at all.

Somehow, this turns into a conversation that lasts longer than it should and translates to the fact that no one has any idea what else to talk about. Eventually it changes to Mr. Stacy's day at work, which is a thousand times more interesting, and he stays quiet unless spoken to. It should be uncomfortable but isn't.

Gwen brushing elbows with him every once in a while definitely helps.

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So this is short. Like annoyingly so, I know, but I've had one of those endless headaches that just refuses to go away. I hope this is good enough.


End file.
